


The Weekend Proposal

by Jubalii



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: F/M, First Kiss (kind of?), Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Originally for Kiss Day.. I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: Eve has a proposal; one she believes will go over well. (Sometimes it's easier to pretend things are what they aren't.)





	The Weekend Proposal

_ Next week… I should try again then. _

Eve smothered a sigh, feigning interest in the elaborate painting on the wall behind her desk. The landscape was lost on her; she looked without seeing, nails picking at already-stripped cuticles. Her heart thundered against her ribcage as she lingered, choked with nerves yet unable to leave the office.

Turning, she restlessly surveyed her desk before taking a seat. There was nothing to do, really; the papers were filed into neat stacks, all the mail sorted, and anything left over from the week’s work was already planned around next week’s agenda. Even her drawers were in perfect condition. Order pleased her, it was only natural that she remain fastidious about her desk space. But she needed something to do with her hands, and now she was left at a loss.

_ I know—my best quill.  _ It had been a while since she’d used her quill, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t inspect it. It was a lovely quill and, after all, it wouldn’t do to have it falling to pieces from disuse. She reached for it at the end of her desk, already running through the steps in her mind; however, glancing at the cat shaped holder was enough to send her thoughts racing in a different direction. Her hand fell short, fingers grazing the smooth feather as she hurriedly stood.

_ This will never do!  _ She began to pace, tugging at the loose curls hanging over her shoulders.  _ Another day would be better _ , she insisted to herself as the minutes stretched. Her heels tapped a quick, nerve-wracking staccato on the stone floor as she turned jagged circles around the desk. Guilty shame tensed at the base of her neck, shoulders slumping under the weight of her thoughts.  _ You’re a coward, Eve Belduke. You haven’t the resolve to complete one simple task. You don’t have the right to speak ill of anyone else… including him. _

She turned unthinkingly towards the empty desk across the room. It was as messy and unorganized as always, with papers scattered over the dented surface and crumpled balls littering the floor. Her heart bounced, skipping a beat before dropping straight to her shoes. She pressed both hands to her churning stomach, hugging herself until the wave of anxiety passed.

_ It’s not fair _ , she grumbled silently, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. For weeks she’d been planning this very afternoon. Everything had been carefully considered, evaluated and reevaluated until she was absolutely  _ sure— _ All that preparation was supposed to help alleviate her nerves. Why, then, was she still so apprehensive?!

“Ugh.” She collapsed back into the chair with a frustrated groan, covering her face as she sank listlessly against the plush leather. “What’s wrong with me?” She’d had a clear-cut plan, a nearly foolproof one. Nothing had been overlooked. How could it be that all her prep work was for nothing? It was going to hell, and she’d not even started yet.

Despondent, she stared at the ceiling and stewed. This was supposed to be ridiculously simple. Even a child could do it, and yet… she felt as hopeless as a condemned witch faced with the executioner’s cage.  _ It shouldn’t be this hard. _

It would have been different, she thought, if it had been some sort of unavoidable appointment. Something unpleasant, perhaps, but bearable. Then her feelings would, of course, be justified. But the most bizarre thing about the entire matter was that… well, that she  _ wanted  _ this to happen. How could she be so averse to something she craved so badly? It didn’t make any sense: where was the logic?

Despite having nothing to do, she was too on edge to sit for long. She needed to stay busy, busy enough to not think about what she would—must—do. There was only one office chore left that was guaranteed to keep her distracted; it was also the one she looked forward to least, even on the best of days.

_ It can’t be helped. _

Climbing again to her feet, she shuffled reluctantly over to her partner’s desk. There was an all-too-familiar sense of futility as she gazed at the mountains littering its surface; his workspace was the most disorganized, careless,  _ sloppy— _ It astounded her that it only took a few weeks to reduce it to this chaotic state. For a man hellbent on order in his life, he was oddly fine with letting his desk collapse under the weight of its own mess.

She chose a stack at random and began to pick through it meticulously. Most of the crumpled papers were worthless scraps. She had years of experience with reading his handwriting, but some of his notes were written so hastily that she couldn’t tell where one word ended and another began. A few were so disjointed that they looked more like uneven lines over the paper than actual sentences.

It took a moment’s searching to find his dustbin, half-busted and abandoned to the empty chasm beneath his desk. She threw away the half-formed ideas, balled-up failures and doodles scribbled on the back of outdated blueprints. The unintelligible notes joined them at the bottom of the bin; it didn’t matter, since he wouldn’t have been able to read most of them himself. The important notes were pinned in neat rows to his overcrowded memo board, and his unfinished reports stacked into more serviceable piles.

As she worked, she fell into an absentminded trance—which was, of course, exactly what she wanted. It was almost second nature to clean up after him this way. She’d long given up trying to coax him into it himself. It was true that no matter how messy it was, when asked he was able to find anything she wanted within a few seconds. But she didn’t mind tidying up, especially when it made her own life easier; if his space was clean, she didn’t have to waste time looking for something when he wasn’t around. Plus, it made her feel better knowing the office looked like  _ one  _ of them cared.

With one task complete, she turned now to his overstuffed drawers. It was always a harrowing experience to open them; one could never tell what might be lurking in there. Her heart still hadn’t recovered from  _ last  _ time, when she’d been looking for a business invoice and instead found a large, ugly rat happily feasting on Constantine’s supply of dog biscuits. The faithful dog had chased it into the dungeons, but she still wasn’t sure who’d been more startled: Barnham, her, or the rat.

Before she could open the first drawer the door flew open, hitting the wall with a crack that rattled the hinges. Barnham swept in on a rush of outdoor air—baked hayfields and garrison steel—whistling as he stomped purposefully into the office. Constantine trotted at his heels, nails clicking on stone as he began his cursory canine security check of the room. Eve flinched, not from the noise itself but from the ringing that echoed in her ears long after it had quieted. _At least he’s not wearing armor_ , she thought, thankful for the absence of clanking metal.

He stopped whistling when he saw her bent over his desk, one brow wrinkling as he looked from her to the dustbin dangling from her hand. Their eyes met just long enough for him to grace her with one his dazzling smiles; she gave him a rueful glance in return, trying to ignore the redoubled fluttering in her lower stomach. Her efforts proved fruitless when he passed behind her, his hand brushing the small of her back in a familiar grounding touch. She inhaled sharply, muscles tensed as he reached around her hip for a garrison progress report.  

“All that can wait until Monday,” he said, pausing long enough to peer into the bin. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up if you think it an eyesore. Besides, ‘tis late; you should have been headed home ages ago, Eve.” He leaned down to kiss her shoulder, his lips a gentle pressure through the thin material of her blouse. The touch was electric, shooting up her spine until she stood ramrod straight.

“Zacharias—” she choked, her voice nearly unintelligible. Coughing, she tried to pass the lapse as a spasm from standing too fast, bracing herself against the desk. His hand found her back again, this time with a solid thump between the shoulder blades that left her truly breathless.

“Ah, my apologies.” He grimaced, rubbing the spot tenderly as she coughed. “I forgot myself and got carried away. You alright, love?” She nodded, waving dismissively as she dropped the bin and tried to regain control of her breathing. It didn’t help that her pulse pounded in her ears, her heart lumped in her throat and cheeks burning for reasons other than losing her breath.

“It’s fine,” she managed, swallowing hard and trying to keep her face out of direct sight. His sharp eyes weren’t renowned for nothing; if he paid attention, he’d notice at once that something was amiss. He’d always had no trouble reading her, even when she was trying her best to keep her expressions level and emotions at a minimum.

Perhaps that was the reason he’d been handpicked by Arthur and her late father, to be of help to her both as a coworker and a fellow Inquisitor. Nothing passed under his radar, especially now that their relationship was more… intimate. If he realized something was on her mind, he’d be hard-pressed to give it up before finding out the truth. Thankfully, if Barnham  _ did  _ notice any marked change, he didn’t comment on it.

“Same time tomorrow, right?” he prompted instead, hovering over the cleaned desk in search of where she’d placed his pens. She nodded again, not trusting her voice to do her justice. Opening the center drawer, she handed over a pen at random and shut it again without a word, pretending to busy herself with making sure the dustbin was safely beneath the desk and the chair at a proper angle.

Barnham leaned against the desk, one elbow braced on top as he began to scribble. The wobbly structure shook despite his efforts, his quill bobbing merrily in its holder. Its movements caught her attention; it was lighter color than her own, neatly trimmed and seated carefully in the white dog holder. She hadn’t noticed it before—at least not lately.

There was no real need for quills now. It was far more practical to use pens, unless they were simply feeling nostalgic. Yet they’d both kept their quills, when they could have easily thrown them away. Why?

Much like her mother’s pendant, something deep inside of her couldn’t bring herself to throw away such a beautiful writing instrument, or the black cat that stoically guarded her desk. They were a pair; one couldn’t exist without the other, and so she kept them both. She made excuse that it was a gift, a lovely one that she had every right to keep. But why did he keep his as well? Eve realized, suddenly, that she’d never thought to ask him.

“Any place you’re keen to go this week?” He was still filling out the form, but it was plain to see that his eyes were on her. She hesitated, pretending to think as she idly ran her fingertips over the quill holder’s head. Unlike Constantine’s soft fluff, this fur was hard and unyielding.

If she were truly honest with herself, she wanted to skip date night entirely this weekend. No, that wasn’t entirely true—it wasn’t the date she had a problem with, or the man she dated. It was the  _ going _ ; why must they always be dressing up to go out? Why couldn’t they just… do nothing for once? Even if they tired of Labyrinthia and wanted variety, there was a still a long boat ride to the mainland.

She caressed the painted wooden ears, trying to decide how to explain what she felt. She was tired of always going out; just one Saturday it would be nice to stay  _ in _ , to do something that didn’t involve wearing her best clothes, or having her hair pulled in countless directions to achieve some elaborate hairstyle. As dull as it sounded, a part of her wanted to do nothing more than lounge all day in bed, quietly existing together. They could be alone, away from the world, wrapped in blissful solitude for as long as it lasted.

There was a specific emotion tied to those thoughts, something that she wanted with a yearning so deep that it ached. Unfortunately, she couldn’t grasp it well enough to put into words. It floated on the edge of her tongue, palpable but hopelessly out of reach.  _ It doesn’t matter.  _ She knew him just as well as he knew her; she was sure that sort of date would only bore him, and the last thing she wanted was for him to have a bad time in her company.

“Wherever you’d like is fine by me.” The pen stopped scratching, and she knew without looking that he was studying her. Exasperation at her own shortcomings and cowardice boiled together in her chest until she felt hot all over, angry and ashamed that she couldn’t bring herself to talk openly to her own lover. Surely he could feel the heat radiating from her;  _ say something, anything! _

“Zacharias,” she tried again, turning on her heel to face him. He remained bent over the desk, one hand still poised to write and his eyes trained on hers.

“Is something the matter?” The pen slipped slowly from his fingers, blotting the page before rolling against a stack of books. She couldn’t help but feel exposed as he searched her face, brows furrowed in his scrutiny. Shaking her head quickly, she tried to find somewhere to put her trembling hands before thrusting them behind her back, out of sight.

“No, not at all. That is, not exactly.” Somehow her face managed to grow even warmer, flushing from the roots of her hair down. “It’s just… that….” She faltered, choking on the words.

“Yes?” Barnham tilted his head, staring intently as he rose to meet her. Every movement was careful, measured, as though she were some flighty animal he couldn’t afford to startle. “What’s on your mind?”

“I—what I mean is,” she forced out, hands fisting against her spine, “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal.”

“Of sorts.” God, his eyes were so  _ intense _ . How could he see through her so easily? She wanted to move, to go someplace where he couldn’t look at her that way, as if he already knew exactly what was on her mind. Her fingers wrapped around and around each other restlessly behind her back, fidgeting in the one place those eyes couldn't reach. “I’d like you to hear it.”

“On Friday night.” He smiled, but the flimsy expression couldn't hide his clear frustration. “Eve, we’ve discussed this before.”

“I know.” Her fingers continued their mad dance. “You don’t have to say it: I know you don’t enjoy me taking work home, but… at least hear me out.” He let out a good-natured sigh, folding his arms over his chest before looking down his nose at her.

“Eve.” She knew he hated it when she overworked herself; this wasn’t the first time he’d rebuked her for working weekends.  _ These days are meant for rest and recuperation _ , he would sometimes say. Other times he’d say nothing at all, yanking the papers from her hands with a frown that dared her to challenge him. They both knew he was right, but they also knew this wouldn’t be the last time he had to scold her like a child for not taking better care of her body.

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” she argued, but the mask wasn’t slipping. Swallowing her pride, she hammered the final nail into the coffin. It was time to play dirty; her tone fell, soft and sweet and pleading.

“Please?” She cringed to hear it, but that pouting voice never failed to work wonders in her favor. “Zack?” He let out a breath through his nose, gazing at her with the same sort of despairing helplessness that led her to clean his desk every week. _ You’re incorrigible,  _ it seemed to say.  _ What’s the point of fighting it? _

“Alright, fine.” Leaning against the desk, he ran both hands through his hair until the ends stood straight up. “Lay it on me.”

For an instant, the world went quiet. Her heart was the loudest thing in the room, pounding in her ears; even the sconces seemed to burn silently. Everything around her seemed to wait with bated breath, watching to see what she’d do or say. Could Eve Belduke really follow through with this?

As impossible as the thought seemed, she knew she had no choice but to steel herself. Why couldn’t she be like him, naturally composed? Barnham seemed to toe the line between self-confidence and superiority, the end result being a disarming frankness that always took her by surprise. What was his secret? Why couldn’t she be like him? She was just as good as he could be—how did the old song go?

_ Anything he can do, I can do better. _

There was no time to waste; if she kept stalling, she’d talk herself out of it. Closing the distance between them, she waited until they were toe to toe before rising off her heels. His brows arched in surprise, lips parting as if he meant to speak.  _ That can’t happen _ ; she knew that she’d lose her nerve the minute he spoke. Her bloodless fingers pressed together, squeezing as she leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly to his.

A part of her expected him to jump, but she knew it would take more than a kiss to catch him off-guard. He was a stalwart knight, trained and conditioned to be unmoved no matter the occasion. Unflinching, he hesitated only long enough to gain his bearings; after a moment he softened against her, returning her freely given affection with a noncommittal grunt.

Pulling away she found his eyes already open, if he’d closed them at all. They sparkled as the emotions worked over his face, deep grey hues shimmering with unspoken thoughts. Surprise changed swiftly into nose-wrinkling confusion, smoothing into deep thought before delight won over. His mouth twitched, the left side twisting into a cute half-grin. It was the grin that always ruined her; she couldn’t look at him without blushing. Overcome by shyness, she turned away and barely resisted the urge to bury her burning face in her hands.

“You kissed me.”

“And?” she mumbled, embarrassed and somewhat pleased. He didn’t answer immediately, chuckling as he rubbed a hand over his chin. Without warning, she found herself being drawn into a tight embrace, face crushed against his sternum.

“Ugh!” His training shirt was damp and streaked with dust, the stench of horses and smoke worked permanently into the threadbare fabric. It wasn’t a very pleasant smell, but at the same time it was comforting in its own familiar way. Wriggling in his grip, she rested her cheek against the bare skin exposed by the shirt’s overstretched collar. “You stink,” she mumbled, making no effort to free herself.

“And?” he teased, mimicking her earlier tone. His voice was deeper than usual, with his chest flush to her ear. “You didn’t seem to care; you kissed me anyway.” He sounded smug; it was a relief not to see his face from this angle. She focused instead on the heart racing beneath her jaw, proof that he was more affected than he let on.

“So what?”

“Normally, ‘tis the other way ‘round. You don’t kiss me; I kiss  _ you _ .”

“Then why don’t you?” she huffed, leaning back just in time to see the surprise on his features. It didn’t last nearly as long as she’d have liked, fading too quickly under the weight of his usual confident smirk.

“Kiss you? Without warning?” He brushed the bangs from her forehead with his knuckles, tracing a lone thumb down her cheek. “And chance my lady’s displeasure? I wouldn’t dream of it.”  _ Ugh, he thinks he’s so suave. _

“Stop speaking nonsense.” It was entirely unfair; somehow, he thought being her boyfriend meant getting a free pass to tease her whenever the mood struck.

“Nonsense? How is it nonsense?” He shook his head, all false modesty. It might have been a believable performance, had his arms not held her torso flush to his. “Or…” he added slowly, a mischief twinkling in his eyes, “Is it that you long to be taken advantage of? And in your own office at that.”

“Idiot.” It was impossible to blush any harder; why did she always fall for this? He was transparently obvious, yet she kept fumbling her way into his traps without a second thought. The fact that she could freely admit it only made everything worse. “I have no clue what you’re babbling on about.”

“I see what’s happening.” His voice fell, becoming dangerously soft as he tilted her chin. She tried her best to glare at him, staring straight into his eyes and fighting the urge to melt against his warm chest. “A most elegant web you’ve weaved….”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m  _ saying _ you had it all planned out, didn’t you?” He didn’t wait for confirmation, roaming fingers following her rapid pulse to the base of her neck. “Kiss me, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, and then blame me later for whatever happens. The perfect excuse, preserving your innocence and throwing your loyal knight to the flames—”

“Innocence? What inn—” He cut her off with a kiss, lips brushing softly enough that it tickled more than anything else. Her complaints faded to a light hum, toes curling against her sandals. His legs caged her, both hands running through her loose curls as he peppered her burning cheeks with openmouthed kisses.

“Witch,” he growled, breath hot against her ear.

“Bastard,” she gasped back.

“Mm… is this your  _ proposal _ ?” His fingers found the edge of her blouse, slipping beneath to test the give of her waistband. “I rather like it; I’m usually against working after hours, but in this case—” She sighed, the sound more fluttering than angry.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”   

“Make me.” Snarling, she yanked him down and crushed her lips against his, more to silence him than anything else. He grinned against her mouth, pulling her halfway on top of him as he leaned fully against the creaking desk. It protested further under the weight of two extra bodies, but she knew it was (relatively) safe; after all, she’d seen it stacked with papers higher than the tallest man in the garrison. His current workload was nothing compared to peak witch season.  

_ It’s not fair!  _ He was still laughing at her, the bastard, his stupid mouth wide against hers, soft and kissable, bitable—  _ Ugh!  _ It was a far cry from the earliest days of their courtship, when the simplest kiss would leave him dazed, shy and happy and not—not—this! It wasn’t that she lost her power over him; rather, he found equal footing over her, proof that she gave as much as she took, a pristine balance of power. She couldn’t have imagined it with anyone else, but with him… it seemed  _ right _ .

He grabbed her without warning, both hands cupping her bottom appreciatively before lifting her off her feet without breaking their kiss. She squeaked into his mouth, nails biting into his shoulders as he flipped them, her spine jolting from the  _ thump  _ and then the desk beneath her, and him above, and—

Her ire melted under the liquid heat of his mouth, each warm flick of his tongue stirring embers in the pit of her stomach.  _ I’d do it,  _ she thought hazily, realizing that he’d been right all along.  _ I’d let him fuck me on his own desk and wouldn’t say a word about it.  _ She stroked the scar on his jaw, fingertips catching at the uneven skin where he’d been nicked long ago.

“Counterproposal,” he murmured, lingering so that every other word brushed her lips in an intimate caress. “We go to your home and spend the weekend fine-tuning this… proposal.” She rolled her eyes, panting softly as she watched the emotions shift in his gaze. He had no right to be this cute, lips swollen with kisses and hair even messier than usual.

“Counter-counterproposal,” she managed, swallowing thickly. “We get dinner first.” She didn’t need to see the clock to know that it was getting late. If she was getting peckish, he had to be starving. He ignored her, kissing her again until she had no choice but to pay attention to the hunger in his movements, the lean strength of his body pressing hers to the desk.

“Final offer: we work here, and I eat you instead.”  _ Oh.  _ It was too late for arguing now; she was little better than a puddle against the chipped wood. Smirking, he dipped to taste the tender skin just below her ear. “What do you say?” he whispered against her skin, voice rough with promise.

“I—” His stomach growled before she could properly answer, echoing loudly in the office. Constantine whined from beneath the desk, answering the call as if to say, “I agree!” She arched her brows, unable to resist a smug grin of her own when he blushed deeply. He offered a sheepish shrug, everything from his ears down glowing in the low-burning candlelight.

“I think… maybe we should get dinner first,” she said again, adjusting his collar. “Here’s _my_ final offer: we go to the tavern,” she began, gracing him with a look that was anything but innocent, “you tell me exactly what you’d like to—how did you say it?— _fine tune_ ,” she continued, tracing his jaw with one finger until he slumped, barely propping an elbow to keep from crushing her, “and then we spend the rest of the weekend putting it to the test. Extensively.” 

“Something’s gotten into you,” he said bluntly, eyes wide with desire and wonder and something else, something deeper that made her shiver and warm at the same time. “Whatever it is, keep doing it.” She could tell he was only half-joking, lifting himself off the desk before reaching for her. She avoided his tempting embrace, sliding onto her own trembling feet.

“You don’t plan to carry me across town,” she laughed weakly, brushing back her hair. If she was half as rumpled as he looked, it would be clear to everyone what they’d been preoccupied with.

“Never tempt a desperate man.” His hands found her hips, ducking to press a kiss into her hair before she could say no. “Proposal: I carry you home, all the way to bed.”

“You can hold my hand,” she answered blithely, holding out her palm. He took it immediately, lacing his fingers through hers before tugging her out the door.

“Accepted.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soft Kisses... are my weakness


End file.
